watching from elsewhere

Chapter Two: The Museum of Ghosts

Authors Note: This one is a little long, but it's all in service to a greater narrative. Hope you enjoy, and leave any comments if you have any advice.

Finn has a podcast. He calls it his day job but he just likes it more than graphic design. I like listening to it when he isn't around, I don't want him to know he has a calming voice when he isn't being his usual self. He's never let me sit in on a recording session, and I think it may be partially because he doesn't want me finding out how he gets his information. He thinks himself a real underground detective of the people.

"Tuesday! You better be awake, cause I'm making the best of the best!" Finn called from the living room as I tightened my belt around my waist.

I rolled my eyes to myself. He'll make a great dad someday. He still sees me as the directionless loser who had stumbled drunkenly into his life that night. I finished getting dressed and took a cursory moment to check my hair in the dusty mirror. It seems my mess of black hair has graduated to full porcupine. I smoothed down my bangs a little bit with my hands, but not much else I could do without going and buying a hair brush: something I was not about to do any time soon.

Finn had cleaned up his mess from the night before. The cans and bottles and pizza boxes from his solo movie marathon had moved to a neat and tiny mountain in the trash can. The small kitchen area of the apartment was as clean as it could look given the absolutely hideous appliances. I don't know if that shade of yellow that is the oven and fridge were a choice by a person or by God as a result of years and years.

A late morning breeze rolled in through my entrance window, which banished the takeout smell from last night, but also let all our neighbors know that Finn was making his envious Heart Attack Burger. It's recording day.

"Is it gonna be a good one today?" I sat down at the breakfast bar and was promptly served up a smaller portion- a 'Heart Palpitation Plate'- so as to not make myself sick on the first meal of the day.

"Tuesday it is going to be amazing! You'll never trust a hairdresser again!" He threw a hand in the air at his own genius, completely convinced that he hasn't spent the past year of his life cultivating himself as the town conspiracy theorist.

"Does it look like I've given my hair a single thought in the past two weeks?" I said with a very ladylike mouthful of hamburger.

Finn's own hair was floppy and brown and acted as a good offset to his pointed features of his face. If I were being mean I'd say he has a 'face for radio' but it's mostly just his nose. If he wasn't such a shut in I'm confident he'd be the life of most parties and every cookout.

"Obviously not," Finn said, offering up a soda, which I declined for water instead. "You need to get that under control, this building doesn't allow birds."

"I was going to say I look like a porcupine."

"No, like I mean it looks like a birds nest." Finn leaned on the counter to really get in my face about it. "You look like shit, ma'am."

I didn't have a good comeback, and I hate embarrassing myself with a bad one, so I just narrowed my eyes and flipped him off. I shook the crumbs and remaining ketchup into the garbage and laid it in the sink. I don't like doing dishes when Finn insults me. He started singing some way-too-peppy song for the apartment's overall vibe. I trudged back to my room shaking the defeat off my shoulders.

I grabbed my backpack from the hook on the back of the door. It was old and faded and the only thing that felt like home. Patches and pins both equally ratty and old gave the impression that I was a near-grown woman who still shopped at hot topic. Even so, I couldn't justify taking them off. I grabbed my notebook from my desk, packed it up with my pencil case and turned to leave.